Until They Have Fallen
by Joella
Summary: Sam and Dean must destroy the ghost of a witch in Massachusetts. This is a SFTCOLARS Secret Santa story written especially for Faye. Merry Christmas!
1. Chapter 1

**Until They Have Fallen**

Disclaimer: I own nothing from the world of Supernatural but maybe this year, since I've been so good, Santa will . . .

A/N: This is a SFTCOL(AR)S Secret Santa fic for Faye Dartmouth. Merry Christmas Faye! Although divided into chapters, it's all being posted at the same time so no one had to wait. Many thanks to Gemini Gr11 who beta'd this and gave great encouragement and advice!

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The tall technician pulled out the drawer in the morgue cooler. His partner coughed at the stink of scorched flesh. "That's nasty. Why don't _you_ pull back the sheet?"

Sam glared at Dean. Why did his brother always insist he touch the dead bodies? Twitching back the sheet, he grimaced at the corpse's face. White teeth glistened from between charred lips. An intense heat had cooked the body.

"Whoa. The mummy returns, just not so . . . juicy." Dean grinned at his own wit which was ignored as usual.

Sam shook his head, though he had to admit it, Dean was right; it looked like a mummified corpse. He carefully plucked the sheet away from more of the body, swallowing convulsively.

His collar rubbed at the scab on the back of his head. Their last hunt had ended with Sam knocked out after his head had lost an argument with a wall. Dean had been able to stop the ghost from choking his brother further, but not before he'd lost consciousness. He still bore cuts and bruises on his face. More were hidden under his clothes. Taking a shallow breath, he surreptitiously checked for the location of the nearest trashcan and jumped as Dean nudged him.

"Lift the body."

"_You_ lift it."

"You want to look at it up close and personal?" Dean really didn't want to admit that his shoulder still hurt. His left arm still wouldn't fully rotate without pain. Sam had been able to pop it back into socket and neither had wanted to see a doctor. They had planned to take a rest to heal but a newspaper article drew their attention to a strange death and here they were.

"Fine." Sam levered the body off the table, praying it would not snap in half.

Dean leaned forward and peered at James Tisdale's back looking for any markings caused by wounds or tattoos or even magic markers. There was nothing. "Huh. There's nothing showing he was participating in any ritual sacrifice or ceremony. Maybe it was just an accident like the news said."

"Lightning doesn't appear out of nowhere in broad daylight without a cloud in sight. Come on, Dean, you know better. This has to be caused by something else. Our kind of something else."

"Any ideas, Geek Boy?"

Sam snorted at the hated nickname. It annoyed him almost as much as "Sammy" and he knew Dean used them both to irritate him.

"A demon?"

"Maybe. A fire imp?"

"I don't know. Newspaper says his mother lives nearby. Maybe she can give us a clue."

ooooOOOOoooo

The elderly woman who opened the door welcomed the two Massachusetts state troopers into her house. They expressed their condolences on the loss of her son as they informed her they were there to investigate his death. After seeing her guests seated, Mrs. Tisdale offered them cups of tea. Hands shaking, she served them both before clutching her own cup against her breast.

Sam turned on the charm as Dean settled back to observe. It never failed to amuse him. His younger brother would leave here laden with cookies if he chose; he charmed the elderly so well. Now, a younger woman would sooner fall prey to his own brand of charm, but Mrs. Tisdale did not fall into that category at all.

Even though she was welcoming, Mrs. Tisdale was confused. "I don't understand why you are here. My James wasn't killed by anything other than a bolt of lightning."

"We understand that, Ma'am, but the circumstances are confusing." Sam oozed compassion. His earnest eyes met hers as he continued, "Why was he out there on that property in the first place?"

"He was at the Cleeves' apple orchard up on Route 128 near Beverly looking to buy it. I told him not to but, of course, he wouldn't listen."

Dean spoke up for the first time. "Why did you tell him not to?" He leaned forward like a dog on a scent.

"Well, there've been stories about that orchard."

Both Winchesters sat up straighter at that.

"What kind of stories, Ma'am?" Sam twisted his neck inside his too-tight collar. His head had started to throb. A bit of foreboding rose in him. _What now?_ he thought.

"It has a bad reputation. No one has been able to farm it. The family has tried to sell it, many times, but no one ever is able to close on it. Someone in each generation wants to get rid of it but then someone dies."

"So your son's death was not the first?" Dean ignored Sam's glare, secure in the knowledge he sat too far away from his brother's freakishly long legs to worry about being kicked. "Were any of the others burned to a crisp like he was?"

Sam briefly closed his eyes and prayed for self-restraint. His brother could be so oblivious at times. "Who is the broker?" Sam tried to steer the conversation away from the more painful topic.

"I don't remember his name but I think I have his card here somewhere. Let me get it."

As she left to find the promised card, Sam turned to Dean, annoyance coloring his features. "Dean," Sam hissed. "Stop it. You're going to give her a coronary."

"Nah, she's tough. These old la. . ." His voice trailed off as the octogenarian tottered back into the room.

"Here you go," she quavered.

"Ma'am," Sam touched the brim of his hat as he rose. "Thank you for everything. If we have any more questions, could we give you a call? I promise we'll let you know if we find anything new about your son's case."

With Mrs. Tisdale's farewell echoing in their ears, Sam and Dean walked down the driveway towards the Impala. Once out of earshot, Dean nudged Sam, "We need to check on those other incidents."

_TBC_

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	2. Chapter 2

_Disclaimer: I own nothing from the world of Kripke's Supernatural. _

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**Chapter Two**

The librarian's assistant deposited another dusty box onto the table next to Dean, whose sigh turned into a cough as he inhaled dust. Research was more Sam's thing than his, but they had way too much stuff to wade through for him to bail on some flimsy excuse like he usually would. They were working their way backwards through the history of the farm. Eyes burning as he scanned the latest records, he jumped as Sam dropped a ledger onto the table and sat down next to him.

"What have you found so far?"

Sam was just too damn cheerful, Dean thought. Give him a library and he went to town. "A whole lot of names. I've gotten as far back at 1692 and a William Cleeves. Why does 1692 sound so familiar?"

Sam snorted at his brother. He knew Dean was smart but he really didn't retain much that didn't have to do with specific creatures or weaponry. He leaned his head back and closed his eyes, running the date back and forth in his mind. It did sound familiar but what about it? As it came to him, he shot up from his chair and over to the nearby computer.

"Sam. What?!" Dean watched his brother type on the keyboard while completely ignoring him. Sam." He ground out from between his teeth.

Ignoring the implied threat as well, Sam kept typing, reading, and clicking on different webpages until he found what he sought. _Wow_. Turning to his brother, Sam was surprised to see him glaring at him. What had he done now? "Giles Corey willed his land, including the orchard, to William Cleeves right before September 19, 1692, after he was pressed to death."

"Pressed? What, was he wrinkled?" Dean's smirk wilted under Sam's look.

"No. Corey was one of those accused at the Salem witch trials but since he didn't confess, he couldn't be brought to trial." At his brother's confusion, Sam continued. "Under colonial law, land couldn't be taken away if there was no trial. Giles Corey decided to die so his family could keep the land."

"So you're saying he gave the courts the finger. I like him."

Trust Dean to whittle it down like that. "Now that we know where to narrow the search, why don't you go check on the other dead bodies?"

_Finally_. Dean practically leaped out of his chair and headed towards the sunlight. "Meet up at the motel," he called over his shoulder.

"I'll call if anything changes," said Sam distractedly. He was already plumbing the internet for more information.

ooooOOOOoooo

Sam was bursting with his news. They had a problem on their hands – definitely a supernatural one. He surged into the motel room only to find it empty. Where was Dean? He pulled out his phone to locate his brother when he heard the sounds of the key in the lock. He stepped towards the door as Dean strode through.

"Dude, we have to talk," they said simultaneously.

"You first, Dean."

"All right. I found out that there have been many charred corpses on that land. The local cops pretty much ignored the incidents, chalking it up to a freak accident. Vanessa, this cute little . ."

"Dean!"

Glaring, he continued. "Fine. She told me that no one will go out there the third week in August. Around August 24th to be exact. Wait, isn't that some sort of festival date?" Dean walked over to his duffle bag and pulled out their father's journal. Flipping through, he found the calendar where John had listed important dates in all the ritualistic calendars. Running his finger down the list, he found it. "The Festival of Mania. It's all about ancestor worship. The 'ghost stone' that covers the entrance to Hades is removed so ghosts have easy access to walk the earth. Great. What did you find?"

Sam scrubbed his face with one hand. He was so tired he could barely connect one thought with another. The hours hunched over the computer and ledgers had taken their toll. "William Cleeves inherited the farm through his wife, Margaret Corey. They didn't live alone. Margaret's illegitimate mulatto half-sister, came to live with them. She was the daughter of Corey's first wife, Margaret, but it seems that Giles accepted her into the household. Her name was Redeemed."

"Puritan huh?"

"Yeah, the names they gave their kids. Wonder if the name was prophetic. Anyways, she was really upset at her adopted father's death and vowed revenge. Since her death in 1716, there has been at least one death every 58 years. If there is more than one, then they take place five days apart."

"Whoa. At least? What are you saying? This isn't over for this time?"

"Maybe, maybe not.

"And what's up with the 58 years and the five days thing?"

"Redeemed was 58 years old when she died. They starved and pressed Corey for five days before _he_ finally died. I'm guessing that's what's behind the pattern. There's more. Rumor had it that her grandmother was a priestess of some sort. I don't know how Redeemed escaped notice during the trials but she did. In her later years, she built up quite a reputation of her own as a wise woman."

"So you think it is Redeemed whose responsible?"

"I'm not sure, Dean. All I know is that we need to figure out what to do in a hurry. I called the realtor and he's showing the land to some out-of-state visitors in two days. They don't know what they're walking into."

ooooOOOOoooo

The sky had darkened and they decided food was in order. The diner was dark and dingy and Dean winced as he stuck to the vinyl seat. Who knew what liquid the sticky patch had once been. Both men ate in silence. Sam was seated across from him staring into space, eating half-heartedly. His face was still too pale. Listening to Sam sigh, Dean was worried. His brother did not look up to another battle. He was torn. They were on a time crunch and weren't ready for it. He'd have to keep a close watch on Sam. Make sure he was okay.

Sam knew Dean was watching him. It irritated him on one level and made him smile on another. Jess had always complained about how her mother always called her "her little girl" and pointed out that time would never change that. Sam would always be "Sammy" to Dean and there was nothing he could do to convince him otherwise. Secretly, he didn't mind it at all. Except when Dean hovered over him. Guarded him. Watched him. It made him feel like a kid again. One that needed his shoelaces tied; not someone who was a partner. He shook his head. He could tell he was sinking into a melancholy and, if he didn't want Dean to rag on him; he needed to pretend things were okay. He pushed his plate aside. His life felt so disjointed. He had Dean but everything else he'd worked for, hoped for, was gone. The path before him vanished into the future. A future that held little promise. Not even the desire for revenge was enough any more. Only Dean and Dean's words about helping others and saving lives held him together.

Sam cleared his throat, "All right. We need to find out what we can about the Cleeves family. I've got an address for Redeemed's descendents. We can check it out first thing."

"Want to go shoot some pool?"

"No. Just drop me off at the motel on the way will ya? I'm tired."

"Sure." Dean hid the hurt in his eyes but hoped Sam would actually be able to get some sleep. While the nightmares were not happening every night like they had been, Sam still had sleepless nights more often that not.

Dean snuck into the room a few hours later. Sam was asleep; his long body stretched out, unmoving. A twinge of fear tickled Dean's spine. Sam was a restless sleeper, so when he was still, it made Dean nervous. He leaned over his younger brother as he had countless times before. Still breathing. Eyelids still. Dean's silent plea for an uninterrupted sleep for Sam was granted.

_TBC_

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	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: I own nothing Supernatural, except for one very weird cat.

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**Chapter Three**

The creak of the Impala's doors cut the silence. The house they stood before was dilapidated and in desperate need of repair. Sam was almost afraid to step onto the porch, afraid he'd break through. Raising his eyebrows, Dean looked at Sam before knocking. No answer. They waited a few more minutes for a response but no one came.

"Let's check it out."

Sam walked around the side of the house and approached the barn. He heard giggling as he pushed open the door. The inside was dark as wan sunbeams barely pierced the gloom. "Hello!" The giggling stopped. "Anybody here?" Rustling in the hay caused him to spin around, scaring the little girl who stood before him. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to scare you. Do you live here?" He couldn't discern much except she had dark hair and wore a sack-like dress. His eyes were having a hard time focusing in the dim light and there was a buzzing in his ears.

"Yes."

"What's your name?"

"Diligence."

Sam frowned. Surely her parents weren't that cruel. "Do you have a middle name?"

"No, people just call me Dilly. It's okay. I like it." She smiled up at the tall man before her and held out her hand. "Why are you here?"

Blaming his lightheadedness on the recent concussion, Sam's hand engulfed hers and he followed as she led him over to some hay bales. "We're here to ask Redeemed Corey's family some questions."

"About the deaths?"

"Yes… do you know anything about them?"

"She hadn't meant to be bad. She only wanted those who hurt him to pay."

"You mean the people of Salem?"

"Yes. She admired Mr. Corey for not giving in to their greed and she wanted to make sure the land stayed in the family, no matter what. Just like he wanted."

"How do you know this?"

Diligence gave him a sweet smile. "She won't give up. You need to stop her."

"How?" Sam didn't hear Dean calling his name.

"She's buried in the orchard. But she'll hurt you. She won't give up." She pulled a chain out of the pocket of her dress. "Wear this." She handed it to Sam.

He took the proffered chain; it looked like gold. A small medallion hung from it. The image was so worn he couldn't read what was stamped on it. "Why?"

"Trust me. Please wear it." Her lower lip trembled and tears sprang up in her eyes.

Normally cautious, Sam ignored his inner warning bells and placed the chain around his neck. It was ice cold but quickly warmed up from his body heat.

Diligence backed away from him as he stood upright. "You need to stop her. You can stop her. She needs to find peace."

"SAM!" Sam spun to see Dean stalk into the barn. "Why didn't you answer me?"

"I was just talking to Dilig…" Sam replied turning to introduce the girl to his brother. Except there was no girl there.

"Talking to who?" Dean was worried. Sam turned around in a circle peering into the corners of the barn.

"There was a girl here…she told me Redeemed's grave is in the orchard and we need to stop her."

"Well, she's got that right. I can't find anyone here and if your playmate's run away, there's no one to talk to. Let's go." Dean was shaken. Was his brother hallucinating or had he really talked to someone or something? That ghost whisperer stuff drew things to his brother that could hurt him, that had hurt him. Well, whatever it was, it was gone now.

Sam followed his brother into the sunlight, looking back at the barn once, a child's soft laughter following him down the drive. He touched the chain around his neck. **It** was real.

_TBC_

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	4. Chapter 4

_Disclaimer: Kripke owns all things Supernatural._

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**Chapter Four**

"This witch seems to strike around noon. That's when Giles Corey died. Those people will be here tomorrow afternoon. We don't need to wait until dark." Sam convinced his brother that they had to find the witch's grave before others died.

Dean had wanted to protest. One more day wouldn't hurt. Both men were still in pain and a violent attack by another ghost was not on his agenda. But they had a job to do and, like always, they would do it. Save lives. Destroy evil. Dean pulled two shovels out of the trunk while Sam pulled out the duffle carrying the shotgun, salt, and lighter fluid. "I've got the survey of this place and it said the graveyard is in the southeast corner." Dean turned around to orient himself. "That way," he pointed and they moved out.

They criss-crossed the corner area peering at the ground until Sam stubbed his toe on a tombstone. Looking up, he realized they were in a clearing. Tall trees surrounded them. "Here's one, Dean," he called out. Pulling away the weeds and dirt, Sam read the inscription. "Not her." They spread out. The ninth stone he checked was it. Sam called Dean over. They both sunk their shovels into the ground at the same time. "When do you think she'll realize what we're doing?" he asked his brother. He never got an answer. Just as he spoke, all hell broke loose.

"You had to ask, Sammy, didn't ya," Dean snarked as he ducked. A wind had risen from nowhere. Dead leaves spiraled up from the ground and engulfed the two men so much that it was hard to see anything. Branches and twigs were torn off the trees and the ground and were flung at them. "Dig." Dean yelled and spat out a mouthful of leaves. They would leave here with bruises and gashes on top of their old injuries.

Both Winchesters dug furiously. Dean ignored the pain in his shoulder. They did not see the spirit but she was there trying to stop them. They hoped Redeemed would not be able to get enough power to strike at them any more than she'd already had. It was only day four of the cycle. Their shovels struck wood at the same time. Dean knelt down to scrape off the dirt while Sam lurched out to collect the salt and the lighter fluid which he handed to Dean.

Standing on the edge of the grave, shotgun ready, Sam kept looking around him. Larger limbs from the trees flew past him and he now bore painful cuts from flying debris. He heard Dean muttering to himself below him. "Hurry up!" She's getting . . ." Sam was blinded by a flare of white before fire seemed to engulf him. Oblivion was welcomed.

ooooOOOOoooo

Dean worked feverishly to uncover the coffin. Prying the rotted wood apart, her skeleton stared up at him. Salt soon covered the bones followed by gushing lighter fluid. He heard Sam's voice telling him to hurry just before he was deafened by a thunderous crash. His ears ringing, Dean called out for Sam but couldn't even hear his own voice. He lit the match before scrambling out of the grave. Rolling over, he saw Sam lying on the ground. Not moving.

Scrambling over to him, he gave him a shake and crouched over his brother and checked for signs of life. Nothing. No breath. No heartbeat. Dean felt the ground drop from under him. A litany of "no's" came out of his mouth as he ran his hands over his brother's body to try and find the injury that had struck him down. Dean noticed Sam's shirt had a burn mark right on the collarbone. Ozone clogged Dean's nostrils. "No, Sammy! Come on!" Dean pleaded. "Breathe dammit!" Dean tilted his brother's head back and began CPR. Thoughts ran through his head. The others had been scorched to a crisp. How had Sam escaped? How could he call 911?

Pausing briefly between compressions, Dean fumbled for his phone and punched the number. Giving the information as quickly as he could, Dean dropped the phone to the ground and continued breathing for Sam – breathing for them both. Running through his mind was all the words he'd wanted to say to Sam. He'd never admitted to Sam just how much he meant to him. Never admitted how much he needed him. Never admitted how much he loved him. He needed more time with Sam.

Time passed unnoticed before Dean felt himself pushed aside. He struggled to get back to Sam but arms held him in place. The medic's uniform finally registered as he asked, "Sir. What happened?"

"I think Sam was struck by lightning. He's got…" Dean's voice gave a hitch. "He's got this burned place on his shoulder." He half-listened as the medic called in the report over the radio while his partner stuck an IV line into Sam. His brother didn't move. Monitor lines were attached and Sam was lifted onto a gurney. Dean scrambled to his feet to follow. His brother didn't move. He tried to climb into the ambulance and almost punched the medic when he was denied. "I need to be with Sam. He's my family." He was pleading. Sam was his life. His responsibility. His baby brother. **No one** was going to take Sam from him.

"Sir. Follow us in. I need to be able to move around inside to help him and you'll be in the way. I can't help your brother if you're in the way." The medic didn't realize it but he'd said about the only thing that convinced Dean to stand away from the ambulance and let the door close on his brother.

Dean reached the Impala before they had backed the ambulance around and tore after it. His heart felt like it was going to jump out of his chest. He never noticed when they reached the city limits or pulled in front of the hospital. Dean parked off to one side and raced after his brother but was stopped by the emergency room doors. He could only watch as Sam was whisked away. His brother didn't move.

_TBC_

_A/N: Aren't you glad this is being posted all at once? No cliffhangers. Merry Christmas!_


	5. Chapter 5

Disclaimer: Supernatural is the complete property of Kripke and the CW

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**Chapter Five**

Dean stared at the scuff marks on the hallway floor. He couldn't stop his mind from playing little home movies. He watched his brother grow up and then leave him. He saw his brother dealing with Jessica's loss. He saw them begin to grow close. He couldn't leave Dean again. Not now. Not when they were becoming a family again. So wrapped up in his misery, he didn't hear the doctor addressing him. His view of the floor was obscured by a pair of black tennis shoes. Looking up, Dean saw a tired yet kindly face. "Are you here for Sam Winslow?"

Dean stood up and almost fell. The chair had cut into his legs and circulation had been affected. He was afraid to hear what the doctor might say and braced himself for the worst. He didn't see the compassion shining in the doctor's eyes as he asked "How is my brother?"

"We won't know for a while. His CT scan and MRI are normal but they can't show the whole picture." At Dean's look of confusion, he continued. "It's like this. If an electric shock went through a computer, you might not be able to tell by looking at the case or even the motherboard. But when you turn the computer on, it might not be able to read files or connect with the printer or other peripheral units."

"What does that mean?"

"Sam might have problems with his short term memory or being able to multitask or he might suffer from a personality change. We just won't know for sure until he wakes up."

"When will that be?"

"I haven't a clue. Although there is not any visible damage to his brain, we still have him on a ventilator. Right now, he's not breathing on his own."

Dean felt like he'd been hit in the solar plexus. Something hurt inside him and could only be healed by having Sam beside him once again. "Can I see him?"

"Come with me."

The ICU was brightly lit and Sam pallor was matched by his pillow. He was hooked up to various machines to sustain and record his life. Dean reached out a shaking hand and brushed back Sam's hair. He trapped a sob inside. He refused to give in to his fear of being left behind by Sam. "Hey, Sammy. You need to wake up here, dude." Dean collapsed into the chair that had been placed for him. "You beat that witch. All the others…_you're_ still alive." Dean's face sank into his hands. "Be alive, Sammy. Please wake up." The only sounds in the room were the hissing of the ventilator and the beeping of the heart monitor.

ooooOOOOoooo

Tiptoeing around the Winslow boys, Nurse Anderson felt pity. The older sibling's face was wan and covered with stubble. He looked almost as drawn as his brother. The other's face was half-obscured by the tube. Doctor Boetto thought that he might be waking up soon and orders were to keep a close eye. Most patients panicked upon awakening with a tube down their throat. Checking Sam's vitals, she was encouraged. Chances were that the tube would be removed, maybe even before he woke up. Sam seemed to be breathing on his own finally.

Choking sounds brought Dean out of a light sleep. Sam's eyes searched the room frantically until they rested on Dean. His hands sought the tube to pull it out himself but were hindered by Dean's. "Hold on, Sammy. Let them do it." He shifted to one side, allowing Nurse Anderson access to his brother.

"Sam. I need you to cough when I tell you to. Can you do that?"

Sam nodded and waited impatiently. He felt like he couldn't breathe and was going to puke as well.

"One…two…three…cough." She deftly removed the ventilator tube as the patient relaxed back into the pillows, closing his eyes. Cottony darkness pulled him down.

"Open your eyes, Sam. Talk to me."

Sam's eyes stayed shut and Dean turned to the nurse in a panic. "What's wrong? Why isn't he waking up?" They had said once Sam woke up, he'd begin to improve.

"I don't know. His vitals are well within normal parameters. I'll called Dr. Boetto. Maybe he'll have an answer." She finished packing the equipment off to one side. Removing it from the room might be a bad idea in case it was needed again. She stepped out of the room hoping the doctor could ease the young man's fears.

Dr. Boetto wasn't surprised at the sight that greeted him. Nurse Anderson had reported that Sam had fallen directly back to sleep once the tube was removed. His brother hovered over him, murmuring so softly the words couldn't be discerned from the doorway. He coughed gently.

Deep lines were graven onto the Winslow boy's face. This had been hard on both of them. But at least it would be an uphill battle from here. The worst was behind them.

"Your brother is just fatigued; that's normal."

"Normal. He's not waking up. Is he in a coma? I _need _him to wake up."

"He will son, give it time."

"And then we'll know how screwed up his brain is?"

Dr. Boetto winced at the choice of words. "Then we'll learn." Sam had survived what looked like a direct strike. But he didn't have the burns typical to a strike victim; hopefully he wouldn't have major brain damage. "I'll be back tomorrow morning. I'm sure he'll wake up and we can start further evaluations."

_To Be Concluded_


	6. Chapter 6

Disclaimer: Kripke created this wonderful world peopled with these characters that I'm only borrowing.

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**Chapter Six**

No sound woke him, but Dean jerked upright from where his head lay against Sam's arm. The moon had set but the dim light from the hall was reflected in Sam's eyes.

"Hey." Sam whispered and then choked.

Dean poured some water into a cup and angled the straw for Sam.

After two swallows, his head fell back. "What happened? Is she gone?"

"You were struck by lightning. _She_ is toast. I need to go back and fill in the grave though. I hope the realtor doesn't spot that hole. No one's come to ask any questions so I guess there will be no grave desecration charges for me here."

"How can I be alive? All the others died."

"I don't know. Maybe 'cause you're a freak? Maybe 'cause it wasn't the right day? Who knows?" It dawned on Dean that they were having a conversation. The doctor had warned that Sam might not have much cognitive function at all. Once again, his brother had beaten the odds. He felt his face practically split in two with a smile.

ooooOOOOoooo

Collapsed against his pillow, Sam was exhausted. He'd spent most of his day with a neuropsychologist who administered a bunch of tests for memory, IQ, and organizational ability. Now the brothers waited for the results. Sam didn't feel any deficit, but some of his answers were guarded due to the Winchesters' checkered past. Some omissions were made that could not be covered by lies. He knew Dean felt guilty but nothing he was able to say helped. Dean just brushed off Sam's apologies and attempts at deep conversation. Sam knew he'd been given a reprieve somehow and he needed to learn why he'd been spared. He'd survived too many close calls for him to ignore another.

Dean had actually left him alone last night. Sam had worked all afternoon to convince him to go get cleaned up and get some rest. What Sam had really wanted was some time to himself. He was terrified about what the test results might show. He helped Dean best by doing their research and if he couldn't even do that, how could they continue hunting together? He had spent most of the night staring at the wall hoping for the best. He needed to help his brother, not be a burden to him.

Dean came back the next morning looking much better. A good night's rest coupled with a shower, shave, and clean clothes had improved his whole outlook once it seemed Sam was out of the woods. He had not wanted to leave the hospital but Sam had been insistent. After years of dealing with his baby brother, Dean recognized the signals that told him Sam needed time to think. Sam seemed better now and all they needed were the results and they were out of there. He kept bouncing around the room. If he had to face Sam, he knew his brother would try to draw him out in conversation. He just thanked whoever was listening that he had Sam, whole, and a monster pain in the ass once again.

Both looked up as Dr. Boetto entered the room reading a chart. "I don't know how to explain this," he began looking confused.

"Explain what?" Fear crept around Dean's heart again.

"There seems to be no impairment at all. From what you've told us about Sam here before the accident, nothing had changed. That's not normal."

"But I'm okay?" Sam was confused. The doctor actually seemed upset that he'd suffered no ill effects.

"You seem to be. But. For the next year, you need to get checked every month with an EKG. Your heart might have sustained some damage that will show up later." He turned to Dean. "If you notice **any** behavior changes that are drastic or unusual, you might need to get him to a hospital immediately." He blithely ignored Sam's glare as he faced him. "Chances are that your brother will notice changes before you will. That's to be expected."

"Sam is a bundle of behavior changes so I'm not sure if I'll see a difference. Right Samantha?" Dean covered up his fear with jokes as usual. The idea that Sam could be affected later when it seemed he'd escaped completely scared him. He listened to more last minute instructions and collected the prescriptions.

Sam had pulled out his clothes from the plastic bag and was trying to get dressed when something small slipped out and fell to the ground. It was the gold chain. The medal was a melted lump. When he pulled on his shirt, he noticed that the burn hole was where the chain had rested against his neck.

ooooOOOOoooo

They finished out the week in the motel. Sam searched local records until he found what he was looking for. Dean drove them. It was an overgrown cemetery with a small plot set aside for the Cleeves family. One small stone rested in the corner. Diligence Cleeves. Granddaughter of Redeemed. Diligence had died young from a fever.

Digging a hole in the turf, Sam placed the chain with the melted medal inside and patted the dirt back down. "I hope you both find peace." He cocked his head to one side, listening for giggles that didn't come. His lips lifting into a smile, he rose and turned towards the car. Dean still had a hard time believing Sam's story but the proof was standing beside him, whole and complete. "Thank you," he whispered to the air. "You saved both our lives." He joined his brother.

* * *

_A/N: Giles Corey died by pressing at the Salem Witch Trials. One of his wives had an illegitimate mulatto daughter but I found no name hence her story is of my own imagination. Also, I had a friend who was struck by lightning at Pennsic War. She was the reigning queen at the time for my kingdom, the Outlands, within the SCA. The doctors believed she was spared damage due to the gold plated crown on her head. Faye's request sparked (pun intended) the connection, hence this story. I hope you all enjoyed it. Please let me know what you thought._


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